Laundry
by trufflemores
Summary: Domestic!Klaine fluff. Just another glimpse into their New York lives once they have the loft to themselves. Klaine. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Laundry nights were complicated.

Blaine glanced between the basket of clothes and the machine with a sort of resigned hopelessness, knowing that he wouldn't get through the night without at least _one _article of clothing missing or shrunk or otherwise incapacitated. The entire affair baffled him, especially since Kurt had no trouble keeping _his_ clothes in check. Even the highest quality fabric emerged pristine and untampered when Kurt was in charge; Blaine was lucky to wash his polos without any of them shrinking. Looking around the Laundromat, he steeled himself to his task, knowing that he was better off getting it down with than putting it off and facing the consequences.

Sighing, he loaded up the washer and hit the appropriate settings, sending off a silent plea to whoever might be listening _not _to shrink his cardigans. (Especially since the loft was _freezing _and he really needed his nice cardigans.)

He knew that Kurt was available for consultation at any time, but he still wanted to do laundry on his own. He wanted to manage his own affairs to a degree. Living together meant sharing a space, but it also meant functioning independently in intertwining circles. They each had their own routines: Kurt preferred to sleep in and catch a coffee before he got anything else done, while Blaine woke up early and got everything done before the coffee was ready, fresh for Kurt and refreshingly sweet for him.

On Wednesday nights – Blaine's least favorite night of the week – he washed his laundry while Kurt did his Sweatin' with the Oldies workout. Tempted though he was to call Kurt and ask him for confirmation that he was doing everything right, Blaine resisted the urge to ask him for help. The instructions were clear enough, and he'd done his own laundry throughout high school. Surely it couldn't be _that _much different.

"Hey, Stranger," a familiar voice greeted as the same stranger bumped hips with him lightly as he brushed past to fill up his own washer. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Kurt," Blaine said, a mixture of delight and embarrassment spreading through him. Nothing had even _happened _to his clothes yet and he was already ashamed of the results. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm working a late shift tomorrow, remember?" Kurt said, loading up his washer with swift, economical tosses. "I had to push back laundry night." Snapping the door shut and punching in the appropriate settings, he leaned back and smiled at Blaine, easy-going and content. "And as much fun as it is to have the loft to myself, I might have missed my fiancé," he added, closing the distance between them as he twined his arms around Blaine's waist.

Resting his cheek against Kurt's shoulder briefly as he hugged him back, Blaine let him go and glanced forlornly at his machine, aware that his beloved cardigans were probably being torn asunder as they spoke. "Air dry the cardigans," Kurt said suddenly, settling back on the bench.

"What?"

"Air dry them, or they'll shrink." Pulling up the messages on his phone, he smiled, a warm, familiar gesture as he held up the phone, pinning Blaine down with a simple, "Smile."

Blaine obliged, folding his arms self-consciously across his chest after the picture, aware that his pajama-style after-class wear wasn't his best look. Sweats and a t-shirt with slightly frazzled hair, he felt silly, almost, as he asked, "Who are you sending it to?"

"Carole. She wanted to know how we were holding up." Tapping away, crossing one leg over another, he added, "Nothing says 'New Yorker' like a good old-fashioned Laundromat."

Blaine hummed, glancing at Kurt's legs, snug in his mustard yellow pants before – pausing, turning away from the machine's dials and asking slowly, "Are those my pants?"

Kurt finished his text, glanced down at his own legs, and shrugged.

"Those are definitely my pants," Blaine said, pouting as he said, "_Kurt._ Have you been stealing my clothes?"

A light dusting of pink across Kurt's cheeks confirmed his suspicions, but he still managed a faux-haughty sniff as he re-crossed his legs and insisted, "They're _comfy._"

Relieved that he'd found the source of his mysteriously vanishing clothes – and a way to prevent his cardigans from shrinking – Blaine settled onto the bench beside him, bumping his knee against Kurt's. "Hey."

"Hm?" Kurt didn't look up from his phone, but he paused, relaxing when Blaine intertwined their fingers.

"I think it's adorable." Then, with a quick kiss to his cheek, Blaine finished, "I think _you're _adorable."

"We're actually an old married couple," Kurt moaned, burying his face against Blaine's shoulder.

"I can live with that," Blaine accepted, reaching up to stroke his shoulder soothingly.

And maybe, he thought, as Kurt leaned against him, warm and content, laundry nights didn't have to be so bad, after all.


End file.
